


Pathfinder

by HeartlessMemo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Feelings, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: Maybe if Jon had ever gotten that library science degree he would know how to properly catalog his feelings while kissing Martin.He could store them neatly in acid-free archival boxes and print their accession numbers in tidy block letters along the sides. He’d type up a pathfinder, alphabetized and cross-referenced; a handy, organized map to his heart. With subjects like: affection, gratitude… love.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	Pathfinder

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm new to this fandom and in the process of falling in love with all of the characters. Please enjoy a small piece of fluffy JonMartin first kiss fic!
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

Maybe if Jon had ever gotten that library science degree he would know how to properly catalog his feelings while kissing Martin. 

He could store them neatly in acid-free archival boxes and print their accession numbers in tidy block letters along the sides. He’d type up a pathfinder, alphabetized and cross-referenced; a handy, organized map to his heart. With subjects like: affection, gratitude… love.

Their mouths part for a moment, each of them pausing to take a breath. They stare at one another, eyes wide in amazement, wondering how they got here and why it took so long. Martin’s sweet, soft voice hiccups over Jon’s name. His fists clutch at the lapels of Jon’s jacket as if he’s afraid to let go, afraid that his Archivist will slip away from him if he ever loosens his grip. Jon covers Martin’s large hands with his own, squeezing once to reassure him. 

“Oh, Martin…”

_ Affection. _

A single stitch pierces his heart, the long, gossamer thread tugging at him and disappearing through the air between them and into Martin’s chest. Jon puts his hand there, letting his palm rest on the thin polo shirt, pressing into Martin’s warm, giving flesh so that he can just barely feel the thrumming pulse of his heartbeat underneath. 

How precious. How dear. How unbearably important.    
  
“Martin, I—” What is there to say? He’s sorry for waiting so long? Sorry for the pain and the fear and the danger and the… the loneliness. The damnable loneliness. 

“Jon?” Martin catches his eye and Jon falls into pools of mossy brown flecked with gold. Martin’s eyes are his favorite of all his features. Or is it the mop of wild curls? Or the long slope of those thick shoulders that sometimes inspires a wave of heat in Jon’s groin, igniting a desire that so often remains dormant. “Jon?” Martin repeats. “Can I kiss you again?”

_ Gratitude.  _

Jon’s lips wobble into a fragile smile and his stomach swoops down low as a thrill of soft warmth suffuses his body.  _ Of course. _ Of course Martin understands. Martin, who learned just how Jon takes his tea within days of starting his job. Martin who never forgets a birthday or fails to notice a haircut. Martin who has pined and yearned for so very long. Of course he knows exactly what Jon needs.

Yes. Yes, he very much wants to kiss again. 

Jon closes the distance between their lips, letting his eyes slip shut and enjoying the soft, pliant mouth against his own. He’s not sure what to do with his hands. Shoulders seems a little impersonal. Hips too… overtly sexual. At a loss, he stands there lip-locked with his hands fluttering in the air around the outline of Martin’s generous form. And, again, Martin understands. Jon feels his hands plucked from the air as Martin guides them up to frame his face. He smiles into Jon’s mouth, a soft, little chuckle bubbling up his throat before he replaces his own hands on Jon’s waist.

The roughness of a few days’ worth of stubble grazes Jon’s palms as he cups Martin’s round cheeks before letting his fingers travel upwards to card through those impossibly soft curls. Martin’s touch is feather-light on his waist. His fingers tighten slightly, denting into his soft skin, as his tongue emerges from his mouth, caressing Jon’s lips before pushing inside. Jon opens for him, clinging to the short curls at the nape of Martin’s neck as the bigger man deepens their kiss. 

Martin is soft and warm and safe and strong and so precious that Jon could cry. He smells the soap that Martin used to wash this morning. Tastes the tea he drank with his breakfast. And he feels… He feels…

_ Love. _

Jon knows so much. Too much. There are facts and stories and truths that burrow into his brain like… well, like worms digging into flesh. Things he doesn’t want to know. Things he wishes he could forget. And yet how long has this one simple truth escaped his grasp? That he is irrevocably in love with this man. That he would burn for him, suffer for him; sit through countless poetry readings and lectures on the ecological importance of spiders… for him.

Tongues pressing, sweeping, tangling together. Jon dreams, just for a moment. He pretends that they are a normal couple. That they share a flat and a dog and a life. That they spend lazy weekends in bed watching horrible television and argue over how much money they spend on take-away. It’s a lovely dream. Martin whimpers into the kiss and Jon wonders if he is seeing it all too. 

They break apart, finally, panting for breath and clinging to one another like life-preservers in a broiling sea. There are unspoken words, sentences, paragraphs dancing in the air between them but neither of them seems to have the energy to give them voice. Instead, Martin speaks and his words feel like an invocation and a promise and a declaration all their own.

“Cuppa tea, Jon?”

  
  
  



End file.
